The Cage(16)

“No. I . . . I was just awake. I thought I’d keep you company.”

His shoulders eased. He nodded toward the floor, a silent invitation to join him. Cora hesitantly sat in the doorway opposite him, hugging her tired muscles. He tossed his jacket to her as a pillow.

The jukebox was silent now. It could be midnight, or it could be five in the morning. There was no way to tell.

Lucky looked at the dark sky. “There aren’t any stars here. In Montana, people watch the stars like people in other places watch movies. My granddad used to wake me up when there was a new moon and drag me out to the fields. Said he had Blackfoot blood in his veins, and wanted to teach me his people’s legends written in the constellations.” He’d been smiling at the memory, but it faded. “I miss him, and his old lies. He wasn’t any more Blackfoot than I am royalty.” He rubbed the place on his wrist where a watch would normally be.

Cora paused. “Is your granddad the one who gave you the watch you’re missing?”

His eyebrows rose. “How’d you know?”

“You reach for it when you talk about him.” She touched her throat. “I had a necklace that disappeared when I woke here. It had a charm for each member of my . . .” She stopped. It all sounded so silly. Her life couldn’t be summed up by a string of charms. Besides, if she talked too much, Lucky might remember the news stories from two years ago, and he’d never trust her if he knew she’d been in juvie.

Her hand fell away. “Tell me more about your granddad.”

Lucky snorted. “He’s a grumpy bastard. He got messed up after fighting in Vietnam. I moved out there a couple years ago—my mom’s deceased and my dad’s in Afghanistan. Third tour. He only gets leave every six months.”

His head was pitched downward so his hair hid his face. She wanted to tuck those strands back and read the words between his words: a mother who died too early. A father who wasn’t there. A grandfather ruined by war. Where did he fit in to all that?

“I’m sorry about your mother. How did it happen?”

He shrugged a little stiffly. “Car accident. Isn’t that how they always go—moms who die too young?” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “I was little. Five years old. I don’t remember much. I didn’t see it happen.” His words were a little forced; maybe he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, but how could she not? She knew all too well the devastation of squealing brakes, tearing metal, burning plastic. She ran a finger across her lips, not sure how to convey the rush of sympathy she felt. She wanted to squeeze his hand. Press her cheek against his and whisper she was sorry. But her mother was still alive—how could she ever sympathize?

“It must be hard not to have your dad around either,” she said at last. “But it’s a noble thing he’s doing, serving in the army.” She winced. She sounded like her dad on the campaign trail, not a friend.

Lucky was quiet for a while, picking at his toes, but then he brushed his hair back and grinned. The tension broke. “Have a soft spot for soldiers, huh?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“I was on my way to enlist when I woke up here. Just . . . saying.”

His words slowly sank in, as her cheeks warmed.

Was he flirting?

He went back to picking at his toes. “My granddad didn’t want me to enlist, but there aren’t a lot of options for a kid like me. I wasn’t exactly academically gifted. Besides, if you get in at eighteen, you can retire by thirty-eight with a full pension. Thought I’d head to Hawaii after my service. Cash government checks and grow old on a beach somewhere with a girl and a guitar.”

Cora perked up. “You play guitar?”

He examined his left hand, flexing it slightly. “Not so much anymore.” He watched his tendons working, frowning like he was reliving some bad memory. “I busted my hand a few years ago. Got mad and punched a wall. But I still like strumming around, alone so no one can hear how bad it sounds. Music helps me make sense of things.”

Cora’s heart squeezed. “Yeah, I . . . I know exactly what you mean.”

Their eyes met, and she told herself not to look away. Her bleary eyes and tired muscles seemed to fade around him. At last she cleared her throat. “Maybe whoever put us here will fix your hand. Nok said her asthma was cured, and Rolf’s bad vision.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we’d been taken by such thoughtful kidnappers.”